You Poor Unfortuanate Soul
by southofhome
Summary: She's not asking for much. Just a token, really, a trifle. The sea witch Ursula comes to Emma with a bargain. But what is Emma willing to give up to keep the ones she loves safe? Started as a speculation fic with me hoping Ursula would one day return to the show. I got my wish, but it is looking like this story will be AU. Will be three parts.
1. Chapter 1

The waves lapped softly at the pebbled shore of the quiet seaside town of Storybrooke, dark water inching slow fingers up the coastline. Emma Swan grabbed her cardigan and hugged it tightly across her frame, fighting off the chill of a late November night. She stumbled toward the shore, tripping over the rocky coast obscured by a starless night. Muttering under her breath at the ridiculousness of her current predicament, Emma squinted out toward the inky water.

She got the call from the sea this morning, quite literally. Standing in the bay window of her new shoreline loft, she was staring out into the ocean watching her son sail off into the distance with Killian when a soft tapping brought her attention to the windowsill. She rolled her eyes at the bird perched there, conch shell clutched in its claw.

"You got the wrong house buddy," she sighed, swinging open the window and peering down at her latest visitor. "Mary Margaret's house is just down the way. Bird messages not really my thing and all."

The seagull cocked its head to the side, staring up at her before dropping the shell and taking flight back out toward the water.

"Well alright, then. Nice chat."

Emma grabbed the conch, inspecting the shell for any potential signs of dubious intent. After a moment, she begrudgingly held it to her ear, knowing there was more to the mysterious delivery.

"Such a pretty little picturesque portrait town you have here, darling," a snakelike voice whispered into her ear. "What a shame it would be to see a natural tragedy befall it. Sometimes these things can't be helped however, the sea does as she pleases."

Emma couldn't help the small shiver that rolled down her spine, waiting for the punchline to this threatening string of commentary.

"For instance, one rogue wave could sweep away your precious pirate just as he is teaching your boy how to hoist a sail. Wouldn't want that, now would we? I ask for your presence tonight on the northeast shore just after the sun disappears over the sea. Oh and come alone if you please. Too many voices shall only make our little rendezvous all the more confusing."

So here she waits, focusing on the whitecaps of the waves and looking for an irregular break in the surf. Alone but for the wind, slipping away from Killian and Henry with an eye roll and the performance of a lifetime about a brawl down at the Rabbit Hole between a few of the dwarves. Just as she was about to give up and trudge back up the hillside toward home, picturing a night spent curled on the couch watching a 300 year old pirate argue with a twelve year old over the inevitable outcome of a battle between an Asgardian god and a World War Two Captain recently freed from an icey nap, the water before her started to churn.

Emma watched in mild disbelief as eight long tentacles began to emerge from the surf, followed by the head of a hauntingly beautiful woman straight out of the pages of the old Greek Mythology book she lifted from an old foster family before they sent her packing once again. The woman grinned at her, razor sharp teeth peeking out from full red lips, all in contrast to the sleek golden skin glittering out of the water.

"Let me guess, Ursula?" Emma groaned, adopting a stance of indifference to hide the apprehension she harbored in her chest. The Little Mermaid's big bad had always been her least favorite villain.

"It would appear you are already acquainted with me, just as I know plenty about you Miss Swan," the sea serpent drawled.

"If you are here to ask me for my voice, I hate to break it to you lady but you are about to get a lot less than what you bargained for," Emma retorted. "I wasn't blessed with golden pipes, that's for sure."

"Come now, darling, you vastly underestimate me," Ursula grinned. "I deal in all sorts of baubles and trinkets, gifts and graces. And you happen to have something I very much desire."

Emma was fed up already, her patience rapidly diminishing with each new fairytale villain who stomped their way into town leaving a path of chaos for her to sort through.

"So what is it you want then?"

"You, Miss Swan, are blessed with a gift I have searched far and wide for, something all too rarely honed in the worlds I travel. All I ask is one thing, nothing much, just a token really."

"Let me guess, my magic would sure be useful to you, would it not?"

"No dear, magic is something which I already possess. The token I seek is also stored deep within you though. You see, what I desire is your ability to feel."

"Come again?" Emma scoffed.

"Your emotions darling, your ability to love, to hate, to care, to fear. You know, the pesky little emotions that only cloud judgment anyways. As the savior and a product of true love, you seem to have an abundance of these emotions unmatched by any other, and they make you a force to be reckoned with, or so I have been told. However, emotions can be quite unpredictable. You'll probably be better off without them really," Ursula tutted as she twirled the tip of a tentacle in front of her face in a bored fashion.

"And I am supposed to agree to this why?" Emma shot back.

"It's quite simple really. While the Evil Queen did a lovely job picking a perfect piece of real estate to enact her first curse, she oh so unfortunately placed you and your gang of fairytale misfits on a place easy to miss on a map, and subsequently easy to wipe off one."

"I seem to remember power over the seas belonged to King Triton, not a lowly sea snake like yourself," Emma replied.

"I see someone knows her stories quite well. I like that, always nice to see people still hold onto the tales that have long since been reduced to folklore and fantasy. Unfortunately, it seems the stories missed one usurping of recent history," Ursula said as she flicked a tentacle out of the water, brandishing a trident still sullied by blood stains not left by any mere mortal. "As you can see, Triton has taken an extended leave of absence."

Emma winced, thinking of a woman she met ever so briefly with long flowing red hair, a woman about to feel the acute pain of an orphan that Emma so uniquely understood. She also understood there was no way right now to talk her way around this. She was the savior, and being the savior met risking it all to protect Storybrooke and all its inhabitants. She carried the weight of the town on her shoulders, and never had she felt so trapped by it. Emma's mind flashed briefly to all those she wished were standing beside her right now, helping her work out of this latest calamity. A close crop of black hair, a friendly shephard's smile, a boy with a striped scarf, a gleaming hook.

She was glad they weren't here though, glad she trusted her gut to come alone and keep them all out of the direct path of this serpent.

"Do we have a deal now darling?"

Emma gritted her teeth. "I suppose we do."

And with that, a bright light shot out of her chest and snaked its way over to a necklace wrapped around the sea witches neck, a heavy weight replacing the hole in Emma's heart.

Ursula slipped back into the water without a sound, and Emma turned back home without much of a second thought. She knew she should be concerned, knew she should chase the witch down and vet her for some loophole, some way to keep her land legs in three days' time, so to speak.

But she just couldn't make herself care. Couldn't make herself think anything really except it was time to be getting home.

She slid through the boats docked in the marina, the twinkling lights casting a glow that did nothing to warm the emptiness in her. She ducked by Granny's front-windows, the soft sounds of town life not even turning her head.

She slipped into her front door, toeing off her boots and sliding her cardigan onto the bench nearby. The lights were all off, the room cleaned up after an apparently successful boy's night in. Creeping up the stairs and into her darkened bedroom, she caught a shock of unruly black hair peeking out from under the covers.

Pulling off her jeans she slipped into bed, felt arms wrap around her and a warm breath upon her neck. A murmered "M'Glad you're back safe and sound, love. Hope those dwarves weren't too much trouble" and a kiss in the slope of her neck between ear and shoulder. She should have felt guilt for her little white lie, should have felt comfort in a warm embrace after hours out in the cold. Should have felt compassion, safety, contentment, love in the arms of a man who had nudged his way past all her walls.

She should have felt something.

She felt nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

Looking back on her year in New York, once the dust had settled and she realized Storybrooke was her home, Emma always thought there would be no greater pain then having people love you and caring for the min return but not knowing those emotions existed. She would often remember the look in Killian's eyes when he realized she had no recollection of him, and shiver at the pain she inadvertently caused.

But this is worse, far worse. She finds it unbearable to understand exactly who these people are and how she is supposed to feel about them, but be unable to even feel a whisper of those emotions. She felt empty, a bottomless pit of nothing settling deep in her stomach and sucking her dry of everything she was beginning to dream she could be. And yet, she still didn't regret her actions. Not that she could feel regret if she wanted to, but she knew that in any world, in any time and any scenario, she would act the same over and over.

Emma gets good at pretending. Pretending to laugh at Henry's stories as the all gather at Granny's for a late afternoon lunch, pretending to be annoyed at the barbs Regina lashes out with around every corner. Pretending to find warmth in a hug from her father and the squeeze of her hand by her mother as they all coo over her little brother.

There is, however, one person she knows she cannot put on an act for. She knows he knows. He can't tell exactly what is wrong with her, no, she hasn't given him enough room to do so, but she can still tell he knows something is up. She catches him watching her when it takes a half a second too long to laugh along with everyone at Leroy's antics, when she has to force a smile onto her face and compassion into her eyes when Henry hugs her tight around the middle before running off to spend the night with Regina. She knows he is watching, calculating, mulling it over and over in his head, and she knows she can't let him do that.

She starts coming home later and later, slipping into the darkness of the room long after she knows her punctual pirate has retired to bed. She jets off every morning at the crack of dawn, taking the early shift from her dad under the ruse of offering him some extra sleep with a new baby in the house. She knows he can tell she is avoiding him, but she can't find any other way to keep her secret safe. It's easy to curl into him at night, nudge the curve of her spine against his broad chest and hide her face from his perceptive gaze. In the dark of the night, the haze of an early morning, it far easier to pretend everything is okay and pray he goes along with it.

Occasionally she watches him at war with himself, those mornings she slides out of a cold bed to find him already in the kitchen, cup of coffee nestled into his hand as he hunches over the counter. She sees a range of emotions flicker across his eyes, the blue shifting almost imperceptibly before he throws on a smirk and pushes a second cup her way, with just the right amount of cream and sugar to motivate her out the door once again. She knows this can only go on so long, but she just keeps operating under the same pattern, not knowing what else to do to keep him safe while still holding his heart.

The pattern holds two weeks, and then the dam bursts.

He calls her down to the marina in the middle of her work shift, telling her he found something unusual drifting in the surf while out on his daily walk around town.

She gulps, wondering if Ursula left something behind just to torment her a second time, then hangs up after assuring him she's on the way.

Climbing out of the bug, she heads toward the bench he is lounging at, picking at the end of his hook as he awaits her arrival.

"What is it Killian?" she asks, fixing her face into something she hopes resembles concern.

He waits another moment before looking up, locking blue eyes on her own.

"I have to admit Swan, I am a little shocked to see you actually came when I called. I was beginning to think our interactions were nothing more the ceremonial at this point."

It's a statement that would have sent her reeling only days earlier. Would have caused her to take a step back, fix the hitch in her heart. Instead, it glances off her, and it's only in his eyes that she can see the emotions caused by his own words. She steels herself for more, preparing to see the rage and hurt and defeat glance through his eyes in shades of cerulean, sapphire, stormy grey. Prepares to watch the man she knows she was beginning to love crumble under her gaze, while she can do nothing to emphasize with his pain.

But before he utters a single other word, he pauses for a brief moment, scratches the back of his neck and sighs, and she seizes her chance to say something, try to salvage whatever she can. She knows it is either that or lose him forever, and even a life without feeling her love for him would be far better than a life without his steady presence beside her at all.

"It is not what it seems, Killian, I promise you," she cries out, pushing everything she can into the sentence so it doesn't fall flat, so it sounds like the pain she knows she would feel was actually caught in her throat right now.

Heat dances in his gaze. "Bloody hell Swan. I can't tell you what in the hell it seems like, love. I can tell something is wrong, I always can, but this time it's like someone turned off my ability to read you. For some bloody reason I can't get a grip on what you're feeling. "

She can't help the small gasp that slips from her lips, and his whole posture straightens, hooking on to the little tell.

"Well, now I know I have said something that has affected you more than anything has in weeks," he says, stepping forward and grabbing onto her forearm. "Please, love, the time is done for keeping secrets from me, from everybody."

She looks down at her feet, then gazes up at him, and for the first time in what seems like forever she doesn't scrunch her face up into a mask of concern, doesn't will her eyes to fill with tears or glitter with mirth. She just stares into his gaze, so full of concern and need and hurt, and speaks.

"I can't feel, Killian."

"What do you mean, Swan, you can-," he trails off as the confusion flits from his features and his eyes narrow, watching her watching him. And she sees the moment he gets it, because eventually he always gets it, gets her, and she knows that expression so well.

"Oh, Swan, what have you done?"

At this point she knows it's fruitless to hide it any longer, besides she needs him, needs someone by her side to offer physical warmth if not emotional. To remind her of the days she felt too much, to keep her grounded in some ways so she doesn't become only a shell of a person, going through the motions without emotion.

"I protected the town," she deadpans. "I protected everyone. I protected Henry and my mother and my father and my baby brother. I protected you."

Now that he knows, she can see how every toneless word she utters makes him flinch a bit. She sees how he understands that she would have shouted that statement at him now, jabbed her finger at his chest to drive home the point, angrily wiped tears from her eyes to keep up some semblance of strength. She sees how it hurts him to listen to her devoid of all feeling, devoid of the spirit that brought them together.

And for the first time, she truly realizes the potential consequences of her agreement.

She took the deal to keep everyone safe, to keep her family from being ripped away from her once again. But once they found out, would they be able to accept her anymore? Would they be able to live with this new shell of herself, or was she about to lose them all anyways? Was she about to lose him?

Well, at least the being alone wouldn't hurt. No, not wouldn't, couldn't.

As her mind reels, she fails to notice him take another step closer, fails to realize what he is doing until she is overcome with the warmth of his frame, wrapped around her tightly like a cocoon, sheltering her from the chill of the breeze and struggling to break through to the chill that had settled in her heart.

He sighs into her hair, asking her how she expected to go this alone, to slip it by him and hope he would never notice. She knows now it was a futile effort.

"Come on love, let's figure out how we fix this. Who did this to you Swan?"

She bites her lip, struggling to figure out how to tell him this is not any of the big bads they have seen before. She knows how dangerous it can be to deal with villains they know nothing about.

"She is not someone we have interacted with before. Well, come to think of it, you may have. She is much more of your realm and habits than mine."

"Who is it, Swan?" he ask again, and she looks up at the change in his voice. Sees the storm brewing in his eyes, and suddenly thinks he already knows far more about the sea witch than she does.

"Who, Emma."

"Ursula."

He takes off down the deck without waiting to see if she'll follow.

She does.


End file.
